


and i, i, i hear the sirens calling

by redlight



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Casual Sex, Character Study, Dom/sub Undertones, Experimental Style, F/M, Injury Recovery, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Multi, Multiple Partners, Near Death Experiences, Other, Rough Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, gender-neutral pronouns for allura, happy to be alive sex, switch Lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-08 16:58:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlight/pseuds/redlight
Summary: They almost died. They saw red and screams and the ruination of a world and theyalmost diedbut they'reVoltron, and Voltron—Voltron doesn’t die.Voltron ishope, hope, hope-peace-and-strength, lion's roars and laser beams and the luster of luxite blades,we're here to save the universe and we'll do it with our optimistic outlook and our carnivore teeth—The saccharine release of death is not a privilege they’re allowed to have.Lance literally fucks everyone. It's not necessarily healthy, but a boy's gotta deal with his issuessomehow.





	and i, i, i hear the sirens calling

**Author's Note:**

> this is the most self-indulgent thing in the world but i love lance and nb allura and plance fluff and janelle monae so have this shitshow of a fic bye
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _and ah, ah, ah_  
>  _it's not perfect, baby_  
>  _but i go sex crazy_  
>  _but i feel so_  
> [ _screwed!_ ](https://soundcloud.com/janelle-monae/screwed-feat-zoe-kravitz-1%0A)

**i. a day in the life of an immortal rainbow space lion robot**

Their world didn't fall apart just yet, so this time—this time it's a relief.  
  
Allura's panting, hard-rough-panicked-loud, hair frazzled and peeking out through the cracks of their helmet. Matt's wheezing, fingers shaking from the alien-equivalent of caffeine, stress, and absolute, total, unstable relief.  
  
Lance is gripping too-tight-too-hard onto his sniper rifle— _not a sniper rifle it's a sword now_ , he slit an android’s throat in half but they’re _not-not-not_ a person—and he can't stop breathing but breathing's hard.  
  
"Lance," says Allura, trying to push their helmet visor up in such a way that they don't end up having more glass fall towards their face—their cheeks are freckled with blood-glass-shimmer spots and dots already, and they're reaching to put a hand on Lance's tremoring shoulder—"We're alive, we're alive, aren't we, Lance—?"  
  
They sound concerned, uncalm, and Matt's grabbing hold of Lance's waist with a strong arm as Lance starts to slip _down-down-down_ —  
  
"I'm okay," Lance wheezes, but they're both concerned, Matt's eyes are red and his mouth is red-human-red bleeding and Allura's cheekbone is bruised and blood-speckled (Altean blood is shiny, shimmery, almost pretty and Lance never wants to see it again—)  
  
"I—" Lance grabs onto Matt's shoulder, too, bayard slipping from his grasp as he locks his hand, entwines his fingers into Matt's sweaty hair, lets his feet give out—  
  
"I'm alive. You're alive too, right?" And his voice shakes, shakes, shakes, and Matt's chuckling, bleary and soft and harsh and terrified—  
  
“Yeah, yeah, Lance, we're alive, do you—d'you need anything?” He's helping Lance to the ground, and Allura's following after both of them, their eyes full of spacetime concern and their lips withholding the slightest quiver and—  
  
They almost died. They saw red and screams and the ruination of a world and they _almost died_ but they're _Voltron_ , and Voltron—

Voltron doesn’t die.

Voltron is _hope, hope, hope-peace-and-strength_ , lion's roars and laser beams and the luster of luxite blades, _we're here to save the universe and we'll do it with our optimistic outlook and our carnivore teeth—_  
  
The saccharine release of death is not a privilege they’re allowed to have.  
  
And Lance, Lance, Lance—  
  
His fingers are full of blood, and Matt's hair, and he's taking ahold of Allura's face, too, and—  
  
“I—” His breath shakes, but everything shakes. “I need you.”  
  
“Okay,” says Matt, nodding blearily, and his voice is rough too, it’s quivering too, and Allura’s reaching their hands to grasp at Lance’s hands too, tight-harsh-desperate grip. "Okay, you can have us."  
  
“ _I need you_.”

**ii. sci-fi healing technologies and alternative options**

Lance is tired, to be honest.

He's _so, so tired_ , that—

Well.

This is the thing—when you live your life on lion's teeth and laser guns, when your lifelines are thread-bare thin and when your heartbeat _isn't_ a defined, scheduled occurrence, when your whole being could _beat-beat-stop_ at any goddamn moment—

Well. Sometimes Lance gets tired.

Tired enough to _not care_.

And—

So—

_Hey, we've all got our vices._

So, that night, that night, right after Lance and Allura and Matt got their stitches and septics, _‘cause Hunk and Shiro and Pidge were in the healing pods at full capacity_ —

(—and Lance is still limping on his sprained ankle and has his cut-up hands wrapped up tight in layers of gauze, and Allura’s got bandages on each of their cheeks, their hair pulled up high in a messy, _not-fit-for-a-monarch_ ponytail, and Matt’s robotic leg needs maintenance still but—)

And Matt’s pacing too hard, back-and-forth-and-back-and-forth, even though his leg’s glitching out and he collapses on it, and Lance has to get him back up into a bed, and Matt’s keeps talking like _I can’t lose my baby sister I can’t I can’t I can’t do it, Lance, I can’t_ —

But Pidge is fine, she’s _fine she’ll be out in a couple of quintants_ , even though Lance feels the same horror in his guts, twisting his insides upside down, scarring him in his veins and his teeth and his spine, _but Pidge will be fine, Hunk will be fine, Shiro will be fine—they’ll be okay-okay-okay_ —

They have to be. They are _going to be_.

(Because Voltron _doesn’t die_.)

Lance knows it, and so does Allura, and Matt’s learning it.

And Allura keeps running their fingers through their own hair, tugging at it, messing it up, and they’re—it almost shocked Lance, but they started to bite at their nails, before they snatched their hand away from their face like it’s a habit they’ve had to unlearn ‘cause _a princess doesn’t do that, now, Allura—_

But. They’re stressed, and they’re getting exhaustion-circles underneath their pretty eyes, and—they need a break.

All three of them need a break.

So, Lance? He’s got some vices. Stuff for stress relief, things he can’t go too long without—

So. So he tangles his fingers in Allura’s messy hair and decides to mess it up more. So he puts his hand on Matt’s jittering, whirring knee, just until Matt’s shoulders stress-tense and then relax.

“What d’you need, Lance?” Matt asks, eyes shutting tight for a full few seconds before he opens them up again, tired, determined, frantic.

“I need a distraction.”

**iii. is it a sin if it's in space**

Lance has a few vices, but the biggest one—maybe it’s _desire_ , frantic and hot and desperate, in every different form and shape and he _wants-wants-wants_ so bad that it could destroy him, but—

He’s got vices.

And it might be pulling Allura's legs up in the air so he can mouth at their cunt just right, enough to make them squeal and gasp and thread their pretty fingers through his messy, sweaty hair, even when they're both grimy from the planetary summer sweat and the haze-daze of battle, stardust and stellar kinematics getting them both _high-high-high, upwards in direction within this flat universe_ —

Well, sometimes Lance does that.

And it’s Matt, too, and Matt likes fucking his aggression into Lance—lets Lance grin at him, laugh blearily until a gasp is punched from his mouth because Matt hits _right-just-right_ , ‘cause _haha, yeah, nerdy kid is massively aggressive on the inside, isn’t he_ , even if it’s not really true at all.

(And this way, Matt doesn't touch Allura, 'because Lance is just a _little_ selfish, okay—)

But Matt is rough and has a wild, crazy grin with mad scientist hair when he's all fucked-out and pleased beyond belief, cute and bright like quasar-blazar bursts —

And Allura, they can handle rough, too, they can get their hair mussed and their cute little cunt all ravaged and lets Lance talk _filthy_ to them ‘cause _fuck, you’re so, so gorgeous, just keep taking me in like that, princess—_

But—yeah, maybe this is a shitty coping mechanism. Maybe Lance can't fucking help himself, but hey, it just—

(This way he doesn't gotta _care_  about the blood of civilians on his trigger-happy fingers, doesn't gotta care ‘bout how the only time his hands _don't_ shake is when they’re wrapped around a firearm, doesn't gotta think about failures and fractures and freak accidents, the way cities fall apart when they're not— _good enough_ —)

So Lance fucks his team members. It’s a distraction.

He needs distractions.

And Matt fucking him rough and hard while Allura whines under their breath and squirms, sitting on his face— _god_ , it’s so good that it’s all he can focus on, just for then.

**iv. local hero here to save the day**

So Matt and Allura, they were the first time Lance really let himself do that, but whenever he gets in that sort of mood—that _we’re all screwed anyway, sweetheart, so let’s screw instead_ sort of mood, heh—

Well. Matt gives him a sheepish smile, after, and Allura’s blush is so pretty and nice, so, so maybe it turns into a regular thing, _don’t worry, no strings attached_.

The rest of it—that just happens, too.

Sometimes Shiro is overstressed, overworked, has his eyes worn and weary and can’t stop rubbing at his temples, and Lance just—

Shiro gives him those sad-sad eyes and says _I don't feel like myself anymore, Lance, I don't know how to, and I don't know who else to talk to_ —

Lance just has to do _something_ , and he can listen, he can _listen_ to Shiro, he can hear about stories of static and memory-lapses but sometimes—

 _Sometimes_ , if Lance needs to, if _Shiro_ needs to, then—

Sometimes Lance can get to his knees and drag Shiro's belt off with him, gets his mouth on that _hot-heavy-hard_ cock, digs his fingernails _just a bit, just a pinch_ into the strong, solid flesh of Shiro's thighs. Listens to the big, shaky man pant and heave and sob as Lance takes him all the way _down-down-down_ , feels his thighs shake so pretty, shake so hard—

Lance likes sex. Maybe it's a coping mechanism. Maybe it _shouldn't_ be a coping mechanism. But—

Lance likes pretty people. Likes it when he can be good for them.

Lance can do that!

Lance can fuck Shiro open while Shiro whines and gasps and pants and grips desperately at the sheets below him, can get him loud and panting and _yes please please please Lance_ —

(Maybe he shouldn’t enable Shiro's coping mechanism like this, either, but—

We all gotta make it somehow, right?)

**v. diamonds are forever (not counting the heat death of the universe)**

With Hunk, it’s when Hunk’s breaking down right before he walks into his bedroom, beautiful eyes wide and in shock and tearing up to shine like water crystal lattices falling apart, the kind of tears that Lance’s mama used to tell him about, saying  _don’t waste these, Leandro, these tears are precious, too valuable to let fall_ —

Hunk is like that. Too valuable to let fall.

And Hunk, Hunk lets Lance approach, lets Lance brush his dark hair out of his paling face, lets Lance _close_ despite Lance’s shaky shotgun hands and shitty smirk, well—

Hunk’s too good for him, and Lance has known that _forever, forever_ , but—but if this is an honor Hunk will let Lance have, then god, _god_ , Lance will take it.

So if Lance can make Hunk relax by pressing kisses all over his face, tangling his fingers in Hunk’s thick, dark hair and _pulling_ , sinking down hard on his cock while he purrs about how _good_ Hunk is—

Rides him while looking into Hunk’s big brown eyes ‘cause Hunk’s _pretty, gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous_ , big gentle hands leaving bruises around Lance’s waist—

And Hunk doesn’t deserve to shoulder the guilt if he misses a shot with his Lion, Hunk doesn’t deserve the shaky hands and sleepless eyes, Hunk’s been Lance’s best friend since the Garrison, since they were _kids_ with dreams of spaceflight buried beneath Hunk’s shyness and self-doubt and Lance’s dumb rivalry delusion and his _absolute desperation_ to be fighter class.

And Hunk—Hunk is good. Hunk deserves _everything_ and Lance can’t, can’t, _can’t_ let him break apart.

Because Hunk is good, and good things in the universe—don’t deserve to be soured with guilt, with shakiness, and Lance–

Lance is a good distraction.

Lance can do that, and if that’s what the team needs from him—god, he’ll do it as best as he can.

**vi. alien frat-boy hazing rituals**

Keith comes back from Marmora sometimes, to _regroup, resketch, re-associate_ , with his new Galra markings starting to appear on his face, with that newly-developed muscle tone clinging to his body along with that new fad-purple suit, and well, _well_ , Lance is just glad Keith isn’t out there licking knives without appropriate Paladin supervision.

(Keith does have a new scar by his mouth, though, harsh and reddened-purpled like it’s still too goddamn _fresh_ , so—Jesus Christ, Keith _better_ not be sucking off knives for fun in some wild Marmora hazing ritual.)

But Keith—Lance doesn’t like to admit this, but Keith sees through flesh when he’s suspicious, and Keith claws apart someone’s carefully-crafted, meticulously-made front, he _tears it to shreds_ like the alien space cat he is when he’s _curious_ , when he’s _desperately curious._

Fuck, Keith’s _nosy._ A true conspiracy theorist. He sees Lance’s shitty-shaky smirk and the hickies up the side of his neck (—Shiro bit down to keep from screaming, it was _cute_ , and then maybe Matt was too-aggressive too-rough—) and he sees Lance’s disheveled hair and tired eyes and says, “Lance, what the hell are you doing?”

Lance can’t really say anything, though.

“It’s just a distraction, Keith,” but Keith’s stopping him by the shoulder and—

He’s not gonna be any _different_ , this time. Lance wouldn’t let him be.

But Keith’s a soldier for Marmora now, and Keith’s gotta _leave_ , and even though Lance lets Keith press him up against the castle hallway walls, feels the whirring of the shuttle and the dead-vacuum-turbulence from outside the craft, even though Lance gets to his knees for Keith and unzips the new uniform down with him—it doesn’t _matter_.

Keith can’t pretend like he’s _better than this_ , and they all need some fucking time to _pretend_ and to _focus_ , and Keith’s gonna run off soon enough anyway, so—

So this is relaxation, this is focus, this is patience, and maybe Lance _needs it_.

**vii. princess stories and fairytales, except with extra teeth, limited edition offer**

Lance’s teeth are bloody and every bone in his body feels like it’s rusted down, crumbling-in-the-ground, but he _cannot_ stop kissing Allura.

Allura's clutching onto his shoulders with their still-healing hands, broken fingers wrapped up in Altean medicinal salve and gauze, and they're whining against his mouth, short hiccuping gasps as Lance takes ahold of their hips, wheezy giggles when Lance presses kisses against their cheek-scales.

And god, Allura's cute, so cute, so good for him, even when they're digging their sharp manicured nails into his chest, running their own hands through their hair, wild and tangled and explosive like spacedust, and their eyes are blue-freeze-death-pretty—

And they're _dangerous_ when they're in charge—on top of Lance, on top of _Shiro_ and tugging his hair harsh-hard while they _snap_ at him to continue because _won't you be a good boy for your princess?_

Shiro was—Lance shouldn't find it so amusing, but Shiro was  _shaken,_ after Allura handled him like that. Matt thought it was _hot_ , said it in as many words, and then Lance pulled on his dumb disheveled hair hard enough to make tears spring to his eyes, so Matt doesn't say _that_ anymore.

But Allura—they can be a force of reckoning, sharp teeth and blood-sweet, a powerhouse and a distress signal and something _terrible, terrifying_ , and Lance just—

Lance can be overwhelmed with that, that whole feeling of _we're gonna die alone in space, princess, sweetheart_ , and Allura just gives him that prim-pretty-vicious smile and says,  _but we won't, Lance._

They're ruthless. They might be as addicted to sex as he is, but, they're cleaner, saintlier about it. Allura's hair will get wild and messy and their skin will be slick with sweat and stress and blood and whatever else but they'll _wash it off_ , tower-up-tall and purely confident, launching orders and defining _what they fight for_ , and they—

They hum against Lance's mouth, whine low and hot and smooth, and then they pull back, even as Lance's hands reach a little too desperately, his fingers clutching against their waist.

Allura smiles, gentle, almost sad, pokes their fingers, all gentle and wary, against the bruises they left on Lance's mouth, throat, chest, arms—and Allura says _Lance, Lance, we don't need to do this tonight_.

 _We_ don't _need to_.

_We’re alive, Lance, isn’t that enough?_

And it leaves the blood in Lance's mouth feeling sour, it leaves his fingers a little shaky, but he smiles and nods and leaves their bedroom on his stumbling-healing feet.

 **viii.** **callout posts and other phenomena you don’t expect to find in interstellar space**

Lance is sitting on top of Red’s head, right ‘tween her big giant cat ears, and he tries not to flinch when he hears the _click-clack-click_ of tools clattering around inside a metal box, right as Pidge pulls herself up and plops herself down beside him.

“So,” she drawls out. “You slept in your own room last night.”

Lance—okay, so _maybe_ his face heats up a little, maybe his fingers twitch, and he turns to her sharply. “Pidge!”

Pidge snorts, rolls her eyes, tilts her head in a way that makes the light flash off her glasses, ‘cause Lance _knows_ that she practices that. “What? I’m just sayin’.”

“You’re too young for that!” Maybe, maybe she is, but maybe Lance’s throat is a little too wrecked-ruined-razed to talk.

“Yeah, and so are you,” Pidge hums, grabbing some sort of new alien electronic from her box and fiddling around with it. “We all are. Too young, I mean.”

Red purrs somewhere in the back of Lance’s head, lighter fluid and plasmafire and _I like the sass in this one_.

Lance scoffs and shakes his head, unable to keep the smile from slipping across his mouth. “Even Allura?”

“Allura _especially_ ,” says Pidge. “They were telling me how they spent their childhood hiding in flower fields and fighting mice monsters, or—well, I can’t pronounce what they called them. Well, they did it when they weren’t learning _royalty things_ or whatever.” Pidge wrinkles her nose. “Anyway! Then they got all excited and asked me if I wanted to go try that in the simulator room.”

“And you did?” Lance asks dryly, but Pidge smirks with those bright-white teeth, faerie folk hair disarranged around her head like a sign of mischief and terror.

“Hell _yeah_ , I did. We brought Hunk, too, and I recorded it, wanna see?” She taps her quick fingers against her device’s screen, keeps that bright-smile-grin on her face even though there’s a little-teeny-tiny flicker of concern in her eyes.

But there’s a hum of ocean and salt and volcano ashes in his head, something encouraging and pushy and _Red_ inside the grittier surfaces of his screwy little mind, but—

Lance sighs, and slumps against Pidge’s shoulder, even though she’s _way_ too small for that and yelps at him.

“Yeah, I’m up for it,” Lance says, smiling weakly, and Pidge huffs and settles into the crook of his arm as he offers it. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you like to cuddle.”

“Hunk offers better cuddles,” Pidge says, without missing a beat, even as she pulls his hand around her shoulders to grasp at it. “But yeah, we need a _break_ , don’tcha think? I could go for fighting some mouse monsters.”

Lance just huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. Me too, I guess. I need a break, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on twitter @redspacelights or tumblr @redlights-in-space! :DD  
> 


End file.
